


The Shadow’s Lullabies

by A_Winter



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst and Feels, Backstory, Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, Gen, Mates, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25908478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Winter/pseuds/A_Winter
Summary: Azriels's story.What whispers to Azriel in the long hours of the night aren't the sweet nothings of peace and hope, even after the fighting's done and the healing has begun his own demons stalk him in the empty hours. Things he cannot forgive, things he will never forget, and eyes that will haunt him for the rest of his days.The backstory, and potentially future story, that I needed. I've done my best with the tags but I still don't know what's going to happen so please keep that in mind. I will update them as I can. It is a back story so I will keep to cannon timelines as much as I am able, there are a lot of details that are petty grey with the releases to date which may be cleared up in future books so if that happens please don't attack me as it has been written to the information I currently have at hand.Thanks and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	The Shadow’s Lullabies

For a spy and a Shadowsinger Azriel hated the darkness, despite being part of the Inner Circle of the High Lord of the Night Court, he counted the endless hours until dawn every evening. It was not, as some might have thought, the wisps of darkness whispering secrets to him which kept him awake. It was fear. Fear of that which he could never escape, that which he could neither fight nor flee from, that which no matter how he struggled he could never change. The horrors burned into his mind the way the scars were burned into his hands or carved into his chest. 

No, the shadows which sung sweet lullabies in an effort to soothe him were not to blame to Azriel’s sleeplessness. Those few moments of comfort as they rocked him into peaceful slumber were the only moments of true rest that the warrior ever experienced. Instead his mind tortured him, not with dream but with him memories played on repeat until he awoke mere hours later panting in a cold sweat with Truth-Teller poised to defend against a demon that could not be slayed. 

Some nights it was his half brothers which stalked him, their laughter as they tormented him for years like a caged beast. Their smug satisfaction as they set his hands alight, faces lit by the flames they created revealing the evil the Az always knew was within them. The smell of burning flesh still clogged his nose, the searing pain flooding his senses as his eyes, so used to the infinite gloom of his cell, fixated on the only light source within the suffocating space. The prison filled quickly with smoke and savage screams he could not place even as he stared at his hands, restrained against the bars of his cage so that his kin could fully enjoy his agony. It wouldn’t be until later, when his hands were finally doused, that he’d discover that the feral wailing had come from his own throat driving his father’s men to action for the first time in the eight years of his entrapment. 

He would never know if it was guilt, genuine concern or annoyance over the irritating noise which finally pushed the warriors to action. Azriel would never ask and they would never volunteer the information, after all despite being a Illyrian child he was little better than a squealing pig to them. A useless swine which was currently keeping them from their supper and sport through its inability to fend for itself. 

That night they tended his hands with the least care they could manage, dousing the flames the warriors removed the wrist restraints and provided a bucket of water to rest his ruined skin in before leaving once more. As they closed the door, taking their lantern with them, Azriel had been left once more to the dark and that was when he first heard them. The crooning and cajoling within the emptiness of his cell, the shadows heard his pain and came to commiserate with a young child who could barely speak let alone answer them. 

Those dreams came to Azriel most often but of all his night terrors these were the ones he preferred despite the way the smell of charred flesh followed him for the next twelve hours or how his hands would ache and his wings would itch as though they were still trapped within the confines of that chamber unable to stretch, unable to fly. Az preferred those nights because at the end of them they held hope. They held the shadows which spoke to him of better things outside the bars and walls and stone and steel. They held the promise of the friends he knew he would eventually find. The pain he knew would one day come to his brothers long after he had found new ones. 

This hope was preferable to the slaughter of a War he and his brothers were too young to be ready for, helplessness of Amaratha’s treachery and Rhysand’s sacrifice, the deaths which haunted him and the ones which gave him sick pleasure that had him seeing his father standing in his place. The tests, the trials, the scars and the injuries he almost didn’t come back from. All of these were preferable to one memory. 

A memory which was so piercing in its sweetness and disabling int the agonising ache it left in its wake. A memory which would leave the Shadowsinger defeated and hollow for days, deaf to the shadows and his friends, sleepless and empty. Little more than a shadow himself as he waited for those piercing violet eyes crinkled with mirth and glistening with life to fade once more to the deepest parts of his mind. For the raw, frayed nerve to once more fall silent in a way that was beyond description as reality closed in around him. 

She was gone, she’d been taken from them too soon and in the cruellest of ways. Az would never forget her eyes, her smile, the way she looked at him as though she saw him, as though he didn’t scare her, as though he weren’t damaged beyond repair. Her laughter would haunt him to the end of his days even as the sound of it plucked the strings in his heart he thought long dead for they only existed for her and she no longer had use for them. Those were they days Az truly considered following her to where she must surely be waiting for him, but he knew she’d scold him for leaving his new family alone, for not protecting them when she could not. So Az would shut down once more as the agony of her loss blinded him to everything but his inability to protect her. Of how she deserved better and now would never have the opportunity to find it.


End file.
